How Much it May Storm
by BlackEyedGirl
Summary: It was difficult to sneak away from a locked up castle. Especially on horseback, riding through drifts of snow, and burdened down with a large parcel. Marian managed it, barely, but fear was a powerful motivator. Implied het and slash, mostly cast gen.


**Title:** How Much it May Storm  
**Fandom:** Robin Hood BBC  
**Characters:** Marian, Outlaws (slight Robin/Marian, Allan/Will/Djaq, Marian&Much friendship)  
**Genre:** Wintery fluff  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Length:** 1,400 words  
**Disclaimer:** All belongs to the BBC  
**Spoilers:** Until at least 2.06, but goes AU somewhere after that. Assumes a winter where everyone is back living where they were at the beginning of S2.

* * *

It was rather difficult to sneak away from a locked up castle. Especially when on horseback, riding through drifts of snow, and burdened down with a large parcel. Marian managed it, barely, but fear was something of a powerful motivator. It was easier through the forest, where the trees had sheltered the paths a little. Once she reached the hill which lead up to the caves, she had to tie up the horse and go on foot. The piled snow tried to swallow her whole, and Marian muffled her cursing in her scarf. Robin had sworn that if the weather worsened, they would abandon the camp for the caves, but that had been nearly a fortnight ago. The roads were only just passable now, and it had been so cold for so long. The morning sunlight was crisp and bright, nearly blinding where it shone off the snow, but it was not enough to take the edge from the chill. Another drift made her stumble, and she fell into the cave rather than walked. Marian counted them: one two three four five six. They lay in a rough circle behind the still warm embers of the fire, but really someone should have been sitting watch. She counted again, this time checking for rising and falling chests. Six.

John was closest to the wall, asleep sitting up, and so she didn't step too close lest she woke him. Djaq's head touched his knee, pillowed on her arm. Her feet were tucked underneath Will's side, borrowing his warmth. Will lay uneasily in the space between Djaq and Allan, and Marian suspected he saw himself as a barrier. Allan's place at the back was probably deliberate as well – he would have to get past either John or Robin to leave the cave.

Much lay between the entrance and his master; it was a trick learnt in places she didn't care to think of, but she looked on him warmly.

In sleep Robin faced past the fire, out of the camp – if he woke he would be staring at her snow-covered boots. His sword and bow lay within easy reach. The part of her that was still the little girl, waving stalks of grass at his nose, is tempted to move them, just to see the look on his face. But Robin frowned in his sleep, and they were not those children anymore.

Much's nose twitched, and Marian had to restrain a giggle. He rolled awake, grumbling and generally ill content with the world. His eyes opened and fixed on her. "Marian?"

"Good morning, Much."

"What are you… is there anything… are you all right?"

"I'm well, thank you." She paused. "I was… I was afraid for you. Up here in this weather."

He smiled at her, open and honest. "Thank you. We're… well, we survived. Though some of us feared for our fingers and toes. And some others of us mocked the first someones." He sniffed.

Marian laughed, smiling at Much to show she meant no offence. "I brought," she began, "oh, wait a moment." She had set the package down when she walked in, afraid of dropping it. "Here."

Much took it, and fell upon the contents with delight. "Porridge oats. Milk_! Honey!"_

"I wasn't sure how much food you had been able to bring up here."

"Not nearly enough, I can tell you that," Much managed to shout and whisper all at once. He was very gratifying to bring gifts to, she considered.

While Much crouched by the fire to get it going again, she looked back at the others. Much's waking had left a large space beside Allan, and, as she watched, he shivered unhappily. Will, a bare foot away, did not open his eyes. But he frowned, as Robin did when he was forced to choose loyalty to Locksley over duty to the King, and didn't like it. Will rubbed at his forehead and sighed, still asleep. He reached an arm out and pulled Allan back with him, rolling sideways so they were both underneath the pile of blankets. Allan stilled immediately, his cheek pressed against Will's ribcage. Djaq bent her legs to accommodate their movement, and smiled at her dreams.

All the movement was unsettling Robin, whose eyes moved restlessly beneath his eyelids. Much twitched the blanket back over Robin's feet and Robin smiled, as if it was that simple.

"He's very young, sometimes," Much said.

Marian looked around guiltily, trying to figure out where the conversation had headed while she was staring. But Much was looking the same direction as she, at Robin's face. "Yes," she said, "he is."

"We knew him first, you see. He forgets that. We knew him before he went to war."

"Yes," she answered thoughtfully. She forgot, just occasionally, that not everyone was aware that Robin was a boy still - that he did all the growing up she had once ordered of him during those few years away. "The others look at him and see a soldier. And we…"

"Know that he's going to wake up in three minutes demanding breakfast, just as he did before?" Much asked.

"Exactly."

He grinned at her. "Well, we should get on that then. Would you mind fetching some water?"

"Of course."

Marian lifted the largest pot and headed for the river. Even wrapped in heavy wool and fur, the cold bit her to the bone. She wondered again how they had survived these conditions unscathed, and guilt could bite just as hard as frost.

At the cave, she heard Robin's voice, alive with wonderment. "Much! Where did all this…?"

Wryly, Much answered, "Our Angel of Mercy."

Robin looked up, surprised, and met her eyes. "So I see."

Her cheeks were chapped and red, and her hair was blown wildly about her face. She had never felt less like an angel, but Robin saw something else. He always did. He stood to meet her, blankets falling messily about his feet. Robin took the pot in one hand, and touched her face with the other. "Thank you, Marian," he said.

"You're welcome," Marian said. "I was…"

Much noticed the silence, and came to her aid. "Lady Marian was afraid we'd all frozen to death in our inadequate and uncomfortable beds."

Robin laughed, either at her or Much, and gestured down at himself. "Quite well."

"So I see. I'm starting to regret bringing breakfast. Perhaps I should have taken it to Locksley and found someone truly needy."

Much's eyes widened in comical horror, and he held on tightly to the handle of the pan.

From behind them, John said in his deep voice, "Now that, would be a bad plan." His eyes were still closed, but he pushed himself into a full sitting position. Much grinned, and went back to stirring his porridge contentedly. Because John was still not quite awake, and Much was occupied, Marian felt safe to steal a kiss.

"Your cheeks are cold," Robin whispered.

"Yours are colder," she countered. Then, because his hands were cold too, she took them into hers to warm.

In the silence, Will hissed sleepily, "Djaq."

"What?"

"You're stealing the blanket."

"Yes," she answered unrepentantly. "I am cold."

"So am I."

"So share."

"I'm _already_ sharing!"

"Ssshh," Allan muttered. "You're gonna wake the whole camp. S'still dark outside. More sleeping, less talking."

Robin laughed, loud enough that the three of them spun apart from each other, cursing and sputtering. When they had untangled themselves, Will was blushing bright red, Allan looked nervous, and Djaq… was still unrepentant. Marian liked Djaq.

"Breakfast?" Marian asked. "Courtesy of the Sheriff's kitchens."

Marian didn't know why they had a spare bowl – she had always been under the impression that the only item they had to excess in the camp was arrows. But Much passed seven bowls around the circle, followed by the pilfered milk and honey. She nodded her thanks at him, and he toasted her with his own bowl.

Noticing that, Robin cleared his throat, and put a (now warmer) hand on her shoulder. "And to the founder of the feast, we give our thanks."

The others made loud and approving noises, before digging gratefully into the porridge. Robin's hand lingered on her shoulder a little longer before he too started eating like a starving man. He looked up after a moment, mouth full, and was a little boy again. "Eat!"

"I am cold," she teased, to see if he would wrap her in his cloak. He did.

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FIN. Feedback is lovely 


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